


Kemps

by itisunreal



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Card Games, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Oblivious Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisunreal/pseuds/itisunreal
Summary: It's Christmas, time for fun and games, and signals to be slightly more forceful than normal.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Kemps

“C’mon, DC. Time for a game.” Skye taps once on his open door.

He waits for something more substantial than 'game' while continuing to write. He doesn't have time for any amount of goofing off at the moment, but he's willing to let her say her piece. Nothing comes of it though, and he finally gives in, curiosity getting the better of him. Instead of inviting herself in, she lingers in the doorway, hands stuffed in her pockets. Unusual, and not truly noteworthy, he turns back to his work, deciding not to mention it. “I’m a little busy at the moment, Skye.”

She rocks to the balls of her feet and back like she's hesitating on something before plowing forward. “Well, that’s too bad. You’re always busy, and we need at least four players. Looks like you’re lucky number four.”

“Use Trip.”

Irritated he won’t dignify this conversation with actual eye contact, she slouches against the doorframe and groans. Then does something unbecoming for an agent, new or not: she whines. “He’s sleeping.” It's inappropriate behavior she knows, but she's bored. All they ever do anymore is work, no one remembering what it is to relax anymore, and it's starting to grate on her nerves.

He looks up then, fully for the first time, pen clutched tightly between his fingers. She looks like a kid, and he wonders how many times she’s been denied simple things like spending time with friends – family – people who wanted nothing from her, expect her company. Especially during the holidays.  
She straightens under observation, clearing her throat. "Besides, I already convinced May and Jemma to play, and you don't even want to know how hard that first one was. So we need you."

Dropping the pen, he rubs at the bridge of his nose, then scrubs down the rest of his face, hoping to wipe away some of the tiredness. What harm could come from taking a break? He sure as hell could use one as could his team. He’s pushed them hard with little rest in between missions, and they’ve been stuck inside since the worse of the cold has set in. Everyone's going a little stir crazy.

It doesn’t seem much like Christmas as is, even with the snow falling consistently, and the freezing temperatures. He has a hard time believing it's only a few short days away. The least he can do is hold off the paperwork and play a game. But oblivious to his inner musings, she takes his prolonged silence as a denial because she enters, taking a seat across from him. Linking her hands together, she maintains the basic pleading gesture as she widens her eyes, pushing her bottom lip into a pout.

"Please, just one game."

And if he hadn't just been about it, he would've caved just like that. Damn his soft heart, and her thinking - knowing - she could manipulate him with such a look. The only thing he has control over at this point was how long he waited until agreeing, and patience was a virtue. But also in short supply.

Huffing an exasperated sigh, he can't allow her to believe any amount of pouting could sway his decisions. But that lesson is short lived as her chin trembles. And though he’s never technically been one, he understands immediately this is what his mother'd been referring to. He looks to the ceiling before sighing again, in defeat. “Fine. All right. One game, that’s it.”

“Awesome” She shakes her hands in celebration, and stands up. “I called dibs on May already, so you’re with Jemma.”

Nodding, he watches her walk out, a tiny skip in her step. This life's changing her, she more serious than in the beginning, but sometime she's the same excited Skye he recruited, and that makes all the difference.

* * *

“Okay, since I doubt I can keep all of you here for a full game, we’ll modify, and play four rounds, switching partners each round. All right?”  
She waits for any sound of agreement, but shrugs when all three of them only stare back. “Don’t sound so excited, guys. It’s not like it’s a holidays or anything. So, everybody gets four cards, and four go in the middle. When the middle set gets flipped, grab whatever card you might need. There is no order, take what you need, you just want to get four-of-a-kind.”

Sliding the deck from its box, she starts shuffling. “When you have it, you’re going to signal your partner with whatever sign you came up with before the game. If you get your partner to say Kemps when you signal, you win. If your partner randomly calls Kemps because of whatever reason, and you don’t have four-of-a-kind, you lose. Got it?” They nod, less than enthusiastically, and Skye rolls her eyes in response. “Anyway, say Jemma has all four cards she needs, and is signaling DC, but he doesn’t see it. Now if May or I do, and say Stop Kemps, we win. If one of us says it, but neither of you have it, we lose. Simple enough. Right?”

Passing out the cards, Skye groans as they sluggishly picked them up, her shoulders dropping. So much hard went into setting this up, and they're acting like she's holding them hostage. “At least act like you’re having fun. Jeez.”

As they looked over their hands, Jemma startles. “Wait! We didn’t come up with anything.”

Skye shrugs again, her cards fanned in front of her face. “Then take DC, and go figure something out.”

* * *

They breeze through the first round before he's even managed to make a trade, and he sits there dumbfounded as Skye laughs at his expression, and May lays down four Jacks. He doesn’t know how that happened, he hadn’t even seen her move her hands, let alone grab anything. But there's clearly four-of-a-kind sitting in front of her, and he throws his cards into the middle for shuffling.

The second game flows much the same way, with him staring at his cards in defeat, one six away from having a win. May smirks at him, laying down fours. What is this witchcraft, and how does she keep doing it. Skye groans across the table, muttering something he doesn’t care to have repeated.

The third round pairs him with May, and his eyes only flicker to her once in the beginning. The cards are turned, and he grabs and discard with the rest of them determined to win one hand. Puffing dramatically, Skye slips a two from under his hand, replacing it with his doesn't care what, that wad his two. They're nearly through the deck when he hears Jemma excitedly call ‘Stop Kemps,’ and saw the resulting high five.

May pushs her seat back without a word, thin lipped, and stalks from the room. Coulson watches her go, then drops his cards, standing too, and hands hitting loudly against the table top. “That’s it, we’re canceling Christmas.”

Skye scoffs as she gathers the cards again, side-eyeing Jemma, an incredulous expression passing over her face. “You don’t get to cancel the holidays because you’re bad at a game, Coulson.”

He sits. "I don't see how we can keep playing, May left."

"I'm pretty she walked out so she would smack you. You know you have to watch the cards and your partner at the same time, right?"

"I was."

"Not."

"She was signaling you for quiet a well, sir."

"Just face it, you're oblivious, and wouldn't see a signal if it slapped you in the face. How are you even a spy?"

He doesn't get a chance to respond to the criticism or reply to the harsh critique before May returns.

After a short cool down period, she knows what has to be done, though Coulson’s inability to simply look up just once taxes her resolve to keep playing. But she promised, and it's Christmas. Approaching the small group, she unceremoniously pulls the cards from Skye’s hands, sits, and starts reshuffling. “Last game, same teams. Figure your signal out during play,” she order. Fixing the Director with a glare, she adds as an afterthought, “And you don't get to cancel Christmas, Phil.”

Her tone brooks no argument from any of them, and Coulson sits with slumped shoulders as she deals.

"You're seriously not going to tell me what the signal is?"

"Why? You wouldn't see it anyway."

He ignores the resulting 'oohs' for Skye, and picks up the cards she tosses at him. Studying his hand, he's once more disappointed to see no pairs. He nearly chucks his cards back on the table, declaring the game over. But the humiliation is almost over, he can hold out one more round.

But May flips the middle set, and he reaches for a three, only to have it swiped away by Simmons. Quickly switching tactics, he decides instead on the eight she lays in return, but it too is gone before his hand even twitches toward it. He grits his teeth at this apparent inadequacy at a simple card game.

He vaguely hears the pile declared dead as he readies for the next flip, his complete attention on May’s hands. The cards turn, and a fury of hands grabd and drops, and he is resigned to losing once again. There's no doubt about it, and he knows he’ll never live it down. He can imagine years down the road, when the agency is fully back on its feet, Skye casually mentioning to new recruits how he tried to cancel Christmas one year because he's such a sore loser.

As his mind wanders off down tangents that he hopes never happen, a pressure builds at the back of his neck, and he's being propelled forward, awkwardly forced out of his seat. He doesn't that the force against his lips, and melds into it. Hands instinctively find hair, cradle the back of her head, pull her closer. Then it's over before he’s completely captured the feeling. Lips tingling, he opens his eyes, and there she is, dark eyes staring intently at him, leaning half over the table. The room is nearly silent until a guffaw breaks the quiet around him, then a nearly inaudible 'bow chicka wow wow' from someone—Skye—who's going to be on inventory duty for a month. But the corner of his mouth twitch upward as he refocuses on her, that near invisible smirk causing his heart to flutter in fantastical ways. He can just imagine the teasing that'll follow if a goofy grin overcomes him now.

Keeping his face straight, he manages to push the word from his throat, “Kemps.”

“Finally.”

The pressure on his neck disappears. He hears her cards scrape the table surface when she drops them, and he plops back down in his seat, knees unexplainably weak. Watching her retreat, a toothy grin emerges.

His stare breaks as his cards are plucked from his hands. Skye sits, looking to Jemma then back at him. “We’re making a rule about that next time.”


End file.
